In the Maker's Sight
by Contort
Summary: He wasn't a zealot or a saint or even a martyr. He was just a servant of the Maker, and he would protect His people. Rolan character study


**Title: **In the Maker's Sight

**Summary:** He wasn't a zealot or a saint or even a martyr. He was just a servant of the Maker, and he would protect His people. Rolan character study

**Author's Notes: **I've decided that Anders is an unreliable narrator, which prompted this. Special thanks goes to Jennifer Hepler, for I've used her character and the setting of her short story for this short fic.

I was impressed by the idea of templars joining the Grey Wardens to keep an eye on the mages there. Yes, it sucks for mages' rights, but think about it from the templars' point of view. You have this mysterious order that seems to recruit mostly diamonds in the rough from the bottom of the barrel that takes in apostates with no questions asked, lawless and unwatched. To volunteer to Join and monitor the mages from the inside is a pretty ballsy thing to do, in my opinion.

I'm blaming my current DA2 character, who's templar-sympathetic.

* * *

><p><strong>In the Maker's Sight<strong>

"The Grey Wardens are becoming an even greater threat to Ferelden. You know this is true. _Why _is this true?"

Rolan took in a breath and released it somewhat shakily. The Knight-Commander was counting on him to represent the Templar Order and the Chantry's interests. He could not disappoint him.

"The Grey Wardens are revered by the people, ser," he began, staring straight ahead unflinchingly as the Knight-Commander paced in front of him. "Popular opinion is that they are heroes for defeating the Blight. We, however, know that they are overstepping their bounds of authority. Wardens are supposedly politically neutral, but these two… heroes, have trampled over that policy. They've placed a Grey Warden on the throne and planted the so-called Hero of Ferelden, daughter of one of the most powerful nobles in the country, onto one of the most powerful _arlings_ in the country."

"Very good. Now why are we getting involved?"

"Because they also harbor apostates and maleficarum. They spit on the Chantry's authority and murder any templar foolish enough to detain them." Rolan couldn't keep the heat of anger from his voice, and he temporarily forgot that his superior was before him. "Under those criminals' watch, the city of Amaranthine will fall to abominations and demons within the year!"

The Knight-Commander seemed amused. "Your dedication to our cause does you credit. What is your mission, brother?"

Rolan smiled under his commander's approval. "I am to join the Grey Wardens. Once I am initiated into their ranks, it will be my duty to monitor the apostates they harbor in Vigil's Keep and dispatch any who fall prey to blood magic or demons."

"Good lad." The Knight-Commander clasped his shoulder. "I believe you understand the gravity of your mission. Go, then, but remember: commit nothing to writing, and send your reports through our agents at the Chantry in Amaranthine. The Wardens must not know of your intentions."

"I understand, Knight-Commander."

"Good. May the Maker watch over you."

* * *

><p>Rolan followed his Warden escort through the courtyard of Vigil's Keep. It was only his templar discipline that let him mask his horror at what he saw. Men worked at the training dummies in the practice yards to the right, but beyond them, a group of robed figures threw fireballs and practiced staffwork. And no one even batted an eye, as if their behavior was <em>normal<em>!

"So, friend," his Warden guide said conversationally. "What's your story?"

"My story?" Rolan tore his eyes away from the mages as one of them set off a spectacular lightning show that prompted catcalls and applause instead of screams and arrow fire.

"Where are you from? What are your skills? You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but we like to know what we're dealing with."

"I see." Rolan reviewed his cover story again before speaking. "I am – was, I mean – a templar."

The Warden's brows shot up. "A templar, huh? Don't see many of those in the Grey. Why'd you leave the Chantry? Got tired of staring at mages all day?"

"No, I… I was assigned to a Chantry down south, not far from Lothering. The darkspawn destroyed it." Rolan cast his eyes down and hid his smile at the theatrics he was going through. "I saw their evil firsthand. I know now that there are worse things in this world than abominations and blood mages. I just want to protect people."

The Warden gave him a sympathetic smile and a hearty clap on the shoulder. "You've joined the right order, then. Come, the commander wants to speak with you."

He was led through the Keep, marks of smoke and chips in the stone the only signs inside of the siege that nearly leveled it not a year before. The Wardens, soldiers, and servants gave him curious looks and exchanged friendly greetings with his guide as they made their way, and before long they stopped outside of a heavy wooden door.

"Commander's office. Good luck!" The Warden ushered him into the room and trotted off.

"Come in." The woman behind the desk looked every inch the Ferelden noble and battle-hardened commander. She took after her brother, the Arl Cousland, and when she fixed her cold grey eyes on Rolan, he could very easily believe her capable of driving a sword into an archdemon's skull.

"Sit down."

Rolan did without comment, curious to see what this woman wanted.

"I'll be frank with you," Cousland said, putting down the paperwork in her hands and giving him a pointed look. "I think your story is bullshit. I think you're a Chantry plant here to monitor my mages. I don't trust you, and I don't like you on principle. Nonetheless, I'm letting you in."

Rolan managed not to gape at her. "Excuse me?"

Cousland leaned back and crossed her arms. "You heard me. I'll put you through the Joining as soon as we're done here."

"But why, if you suspect that I'm here to supersede your authority?"

"Because if I don't let you in now, you Chantry zealots will start getting sneaky. The known enemy is always preferable to searching for the wolf amidst the flock. Besides, the Joining might just kill you off, anyway." She shrugged as if she couldn't care one way or another.

Rolan swallowed his questions. After a moment, he said, "So what are your terms?"

Cousland gave him a lupine smile. "Clever man. You want to be a Warden? You leave my mages alone. I won't have any 'accidents' or harassment from you, Ser Templar. I catch a wiff of a holy smite on anything other than an emissary and I'll lock you up faster than you can blink. Are we clear on this?"

"Perfectly, Commander." He hadn't been expecting this. Rolan would have to write the Knight-Commander as soon as possible.

"Then get out of my office. My seneschal will direct you to where you'll undertake the Joining." She gave him a dismissive gesture, attention already turning back to the scattered paperwork. "Maker have mercy on your soul."

Rolan suppressed a shiver and followed the old man who'd appeared in the doorway out of the office.

* * *

><p>The mages weren't even segregated. Rolan found himself picking them out of the crowd at dinner, his nausea at the number of staves and robes warring with the new gnawing in his belly after the Taint he'd swallowed. So many more than they'd thought, and new recruits came in every week. Some of them were bound to be apostates, capable of Maker only knew what kind of twisted magics. The other Wardens just ate and spoke with them as if the whole situation wasn't a massacre waiting to happen. Hadn't they heard of Uldred's rebellion? Surely everyone had heard of the tower full of twisted abominations and blood mages who left so few alive and had decimated the Ferelden Circle for decades to come? How many Wardens and soldiers would die before they could kill one out of control abomination?<p>

Templars were trained to react to sudden movements and the faint snap of magic in the air. This was to keep them attuned with the emotional states of their charges. An upset mage was a dangerous mage, so when the man in the Tevinter-styled robes stood up abruptly, his hands clenched into fists and electricity crackling through the air, Rolan quietly reached for his sword under the table. The man turned and scanned through the crowd before his eyes found Rolan's.

Anger, outrage, even hate, he had expected, but the poorly disguised _fear_ in the other man's face gave him pause. Most mages had a healthy amount of fear for members of the templar order, but terror was something else. In his experience, the only mages to look at templars with that expression were the ones who had something to hide.

The man was already striding out of the room, though, so Rolan returned to his food. He'd wait and observe the man closer before he made any moves. Besides, he was _excruciatingly_ hungry.

* * *

><p>The more Rolan learned about Anders, the uneasier he felt.<p>

He'd taken to making sure he was always scheduled on the same patrols as the man, despite Cousland's warning and Anders' own, quite vocal, protests.

_This_ was the infamous Anders, seven-time escapee and strident Libertarian. He was the first mage recruited into the Wardens of Vigil's Keep, and he was suspected to have murdered Ser Rylock, a just and pious woman, when she took steps to return him into templar custody. The man was flamboyant, obnoxious, and promiscuous. He flaunted his magic as if it were a badge of honor instead of a curse upon his soul. Rolan couldn't stand him, personally, and he was even more horrified by the company he kept.

Most appalling was the _demon_ wandering about, The Commander had been quite insistent in claiming that it was a benign spirit of justice, unjustly and accidentally trapped in the rotting corpse of a fallen Warden, but Rolan was fairly certain that the only beings known to inhabit dead bodies were lower-tier demons. The only reason he had yet to kill the thing was because it never slept, and he wasn't sure how to kill something that was technically already dead. Fire? Dismemberment? Beheading?

He looked up from his musings and froze. The mage and the demon were both out of his sight.

"Guard," he called to the person manning the gate into the Vigil courtyard. "Has Anders passed this way?"

The man gave him a puzzled frown. "Uh, yes. He and Justice left this gate about half an hour ago. Did you need him for something?"

"I… did, yes. It's rather important. I'll go see if I can find him on the road."

Cursing under his breath, Rolan jogged out of the greater keep and picked a path towards the hidden shack in the nearby woods. The Wardens had yet to find out about the little building and the templars posted there. Two men, ready at all times for an emergency from Rolan, and he was certain that this did count as an emergency.

"What is it?" one of them asked as he threw the door open. The other was checking the buckles on his armor. "Something's happened?"

"Yes," Rolan breathed, somewhat winded from his jog. "That apostate – Anders – he's run off with the demon calling himself Justice."

"The same one he's been talking to about 'injustice' and inciting rebellion?" The templar swore viciously. "We have no time to lose, then."

The trio ran out of the shanty until they reached the road. One of them scouted ahead before returning to report.

"He's in a clearing. He and the demon were talking – I couldn't hear what, but suddenly, there was this flash of light… You have to come see."

Rolan followed the templar into the clearing, and his heart sank. Kristoff's body lay lifeless and immobile for the first time that he'd ever seen, and, just a few feet away, Anders lay prone on the ground. He decided against voicing his suspicions, but he did draw his sword.

Rolan knew they'd made a mistake as soon as the man's eyes snapped open.

The man was obviously possessed, and Rolan took the time to adjust the grip on his sword and spit out, "The Wardens agree we can't harbor and abomination."

Anders snapped.

Rolan had seen abominations before. The weaker ones twisted into lumpy, misshapen parodies of human beings that were easily identified and fairly simple to dispatch. The stronger ones could retain their human shape until threatened, at which point they'd transform. He'd never seen one like this.

Anders' skin cracked open, and burning Fade light, rather than blood, spilled from him. His features were lost to the unholy glow, but there was no mistaking the inhuman howl of rage that spilled from him. Faster than the eye could follow, he'd launched himself at the closest man, hands curled into claws and teeth gnashing.

Rolan knew, in that moment, that he was going to die. The abomination would rend his head from his shoulders and revel in his lifeblood, and that would be the end of him. Somewhere, behind the ungodly terror that consumed him, the thought was oddly calming. He'd never intended to be a martyr, but he was content in the knowledge that soon, he would walk at the Maker's side and be rewarded for his service.

So, when he'd plunged his sword into the creature and had it continue to reach for him with grasping fingers, he closed his eyes. He wasn't a zealot or a saint, but he knew that soon, someone would put this creature down and continue his work.

Pain exploded within him, and he closed his eyes to rest.


End file.
